


it squirms in you like a worm

by tender_anaphylaxis



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Corruption, Dark Side Exile, Dubious Consent, Grey Exile, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Korriban is not a nice place, Mindfuck, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Exile, Other, Pazaak as Foreplay, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-02 00:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_anaphylaxis/pseuds/tender_anaphylaxis
Summary: a few short pieces on atton rand, his fucked up libido, and his relationship with the exile.please mind the tags, atton is not a good man and the exile isn't all that great either.





	1. obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to a collection of filth i wrote while i was replaying kotor 2 and emotional and horny about it. PLEASE mind the tags.

Atton would kill for them. He would die for them. It was the first thoughts through their head when the Exile walked into the brig, head held high, and it wasn't just idle fantasies from his dick and the several hours of dehydration he'd been under since being shoved in the clink. The conviction of it shook him to his rotten core. He'd only been so sure of something one other time in his life. But his love is diseased pus-filled and oozing to the bone, and Atton couldn't bear even the thought of them knowing the depth of it. The last thing he loved, he killed with his own hands. And Auren Keane, invincible at some times, at others seemed like such a delicate, burning thing, as wood turns to brittle charcoal at the heart of a bonfire. Breakable.

He wanted his hands around their throat.

It became even worse after they got under his skin -- no matter how hard he tried, Atton couldn't stop her. Pressing and teasing apart his careful armor like it was so many scraps of cloth. The words came spilling out, and they didn't even do it gently -- dragging the truth from him _hurt,_ and they took it all in under their cold, uncompromising eye. No words of sympathy, no reassurance that it wasn't his fault -- not that Atton would have wanted it -- they only told him how he could atone.

And they opened his eyes again, and he _saw,_ and the Force rolled out in front of him as an endless, intertwining tide, but all he could see was _Auren,_ brilliant and burning and so bright and empty it made his eyes water.

He wanted a knife between their ribs.

Training was the hardest part. He knew for a fact that this was no traditional Jedi training; on the run and lacking teachers. Auren could only do so much, and still the Force felt to him like clumsy building blocks in a child's hands. It doesn't matter the disparity between his own and Auren's skill, all that mattered was their _attention,_ their eyes, their less-than-gentle touch correcting his lightsaber form, the sharp jab of the practice sword in his side when he messed up -- joking that he was more used to a blaster, they never laugh, but the tired look they gave, that was attention, too. He couldn't get enough of just Auren's brilliant mind turned to him,

He wanted to tear out their throat.

Images haunted him nightly. Kreia threatened to make him the twisted thing he used to be, taking power in despair, but that was just proof her perception still only skimmed the surface. Joke's on her; still was that monster. His fingers itched to sink into yielding flesh, to bruise, to hurt, to break, begged for a knife to twirl and cut and ruin. Wielding a lightsaber, while a thrill off its own, just wasn't comparable to the simple mechanical pleasure of a whisper-sharp blade sliding through a vulnerable windpipe.

And now, his fantasies feature Auren.

Atton can never look them in the eye the day after. Those eyes, hazel and unflinching, already seem to cut right through him, but by their own admission his tricks work on them, and they decline to dig deeper as Kreia does -- but somehow, he feels they have to know. They have to know what he thinks about every night; thinking about cutting the robes off them and pinning them down, using what they've taught him as a Jedi hunter would use such knowledge; to bind and restrain a Force-user effectively. How he wants to know what their insides look like, feel like, wants to know if they'd react if he forced his tongue into the cuts. And that's the core of it, the bleeding, aching core -- Atton wants to see them _break,_ shatter that cold practicality into shivering submission, wants to see them cry and dissolve and wants to know what their eyeball might feel like popping in his _mouth_\--

Atton wants so much. He is a thing of wanting. Just like the first time, he cannot control his emotions, an overflowing waste compactor of a heart. But he's become so weak, now, because he can't bring himself to erase the one responsible for it. They'd wormed into his very soul and felt content to eat out the heart of his rot like a worm, and Atton could do nothing but lay there and let it happen in silence.


	2. games

Auren had pitched the idea over Pazaak.

"So," They'd said, considering their hand for a moment and flipping the face of their card before setting it down. The totals are nine-ten. "You're a sadist, aren't you?"

Atton had sputtered some kind of nonsense before saying, "I'm -- uh -- Are you saying that because of --" He cut himself off, wondering if he should be angry, or embarrassed. He put a card down, almost without thinking. He had a good hand left -- a couple of reversibles, a couple of minus cards. He'd be fine.

"Yes and no," Auren replied, folding their remaining cards into their palm to stand for the round. "You just loved your job, that's all. Said it yourself." The totals are eighteen-fifteen.

"You know, even back then, I did try to keep a good work-life balance." Atton countered, somehow managing to be glib as the implications of what they were asking sank in.

"Yeah. Sure. Maybe you're not really a sadist." The totals are eighteen-seventeen. Auren's lips curl into a knowing smile, their icy eyes watching him with -- something. They were even more unreadable than he was. Suddenly, they're too close -- moving like water, they've leaned over the game board and are close to his ear. "I guess I'll just tell someone else to hold me down and hurt me."

The totals are eighteen-twenty one. Atton has lost the match.

* * *

"On your knees, Jedi."

Auren looks up at him with those icy pale eyes, and for a moment, Atton almost falters. Almost. Instead, he kicks them in the kneecap and down they go, letting out a whimper that was so unlike them it makes Atton's chest ache -- and other parts of him, too. He doesn't worry too much about the extent of the damage -- between the Force and their medbay, they could repair just about anything that wasn't fatal. But still, disgust at his own reaction to their pain curls in his gut, but by everything holy, he needsthis,  _ needs _ to feel their close-cropped hair between his gloved fingers as he grabs their skull and shoves their face into the crotch of his trousers,  _ needs  _ to watch their expression -- guarded fear and schooled revulsion -- slither over their face. It made his body hot. It made him want to do sick things.

Atton frees his cock with a groan of relief, pressing its overheated length into the side of Auren's face with greedy insistence. And what does the contrary little fuck do? Try to bite. He thinks it's got to be part of the whole Force Sensitive thing, that lets him pull back in time, but if it is, it doesn't help Auren avoid his backhand. They go tumbling to the floor of the cockpit, spitting blood onto the dark metal, and when they lift their head, that defiant look unbroken on their pretty face, the mark he left makes Atton twitch. His hand goes into his pocket then, and he withdraws a switchblade -- simple, fragile, unsuited to combat, but... satisfying, all the same. Before they can get up, Atton kneels down to slip it between Auren's slightly parted lips-- they freeze, jaw freezing open around the blade, a bit of blood welling to the surface where the razor-sharp edge nicked their tongue.

"Now, let's get one thing straight, Jedi," Atton can see them flinch minutely -- even now, they hate being called that. It gives him a thrill. "You really, really don't want to bite. I'm not a picky guy, and if you don't let me have your mouth, well. I've made my own holes before." Auren's throat works, the little muscles in their jaw betraying their fear -- or their arousal. A heady mix of both flutters in their mind, barely perceptible by his surface grazings. When the fear outweighed the arousal,when it bloomed to panic, that's when they'd agreed they'd stop -- but he's scaring himself. He's getting addicted.

Assured of their silence, Atton grabs them by the hair at the back of their head again, pulling the blade from between their lips to pry their lips further apart with his thumb. Is naked edge leaves shallow scrapes and cuts around their mouth as he carelessly works it open. Tears are welling to the corners of their eyes. "Now, remember," He says, cheerfully, setting his cock against their gaping lips. "No biting."


	3. fall to pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so when i was playing i *seriously* bombed the tomb segment on korriban, and, well, here we are

When Auren comes out of that cave, they look like a ghost.

Really, Atton had known how it was going to go. He'd felt this -- sick tugging in his gut for hours, this buzzing in his skull, the sensation of being dragged down, down, down. He was agitated. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pick a fight with the Disciple and see where it went.

He didn't do any of these things. But he did wait at the loading ramp for Auren to get there.

Atton thinks maybe everyone else was hiding. They might not know exactly what had happened in there, but they could all feel it -- and anyone with more sense than him knew to stay away. Even Bao-Dur set his calibrations aside, clearing space for their leader to return in defeat.

Auren ignores him at first, sweeping into the Ebon Hawk, already shrugging off their robes, like they burned them. Visas exits the starboard dormitory as they enter it, with the tired acceptance of someone not unaccustomed to being the one to flee a bad situation as it begins. But as it was established; Atton is not that smart.

"Hey -- don't ignore me!" Atton doesn't leave, and they start stripping like he isn't there. He struggles not to look too long at the curve of their back, cut with scars but toned _ \-- _

"Shut up. Get out of here. I have to -- I have take some time to myself. I have to -- center myself." They keep undressing, and their skin is -- irritated and raw where the cloth falls away. Spider-veins arc their way across their pale skin like electrical scars. "Get out. That's an order."

"Too bad I'm no good at following orders, then," Atton said, standing firm in the doorway. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what happened in there." He'd considered making a comment about their eagerness to get out of their clothes, but something had changed in Auren's eyes, and when they glare back at him, all the distraction he might have had for the peep show evaporates into cold fear. Not that fear ever did much to discourage his libido.

"It doesn't matter," Auren spits, balling their robes up and throwing them across the room like they're angry at them. "It was all just -- ghosts and visions. Nothing that mattered. Nothing that meant anything. All just -- some dead Sith's idea of a joke. Shouldn't have wasted my fucking time--"

"Are you sure?" Atton says, raising his voice to cut them off and taking another step. "Because it sure doesn't sound like nothing. You fucked up in there, and it's written all over you You look like you've had your soul sucked out."

They're less than half-dressed now, but it doesn't feel sexual, at least, no more than anything else roiling in his uncontrolled mass of emotions did. He wants to destroy them for keeping this from him -- the amount of -- possession he feels over them scareshim. But he can''t stop it -- doesn't want to stop it. Auren turns to face him, the low lights of the dormitory catching on shiny, fresh bruises and their dusty, sweaty body. Fresh cuts and lightsaber burns. Old scars. He wants to make more. His mind is in tangles. They're probably right. Korriban is messing with all their heads, not to mention whatever happened in there was probably bleeding over into everyone they were close to. If Atton were a smart man, he'd turn around, and he'd take them off that godforsaken planet and let them all recuperate elsewhere.

But he can't do that. Not now. Their unraveling is just too addicting.

"Atton, don't," Auren says, turning their body away. Their face is starting to have flickers of fear in it, and he drinks it in like wine. "Don't fucking touch me. I'm --"

If they really wanted him gone, they could have done it by now. Atton grabs them by the shoulder and digs his thumb into a bruise. Their breath hitches. "Tell me what it did to you. Tell me why you're like this. Tell me why you did that, knowing you'd drag all of us down with you."

He pushes Auren down to their knees, and follows them there, his own kneecaps hitting the metal floor as hard as theirs did. Atton doesn't realize he's using the Suppression technique until he hears Auren's lightsaber weakly clatter against the floor again, their powers too weak to carry it to them. He doesn't stop once he's realized. And they don't give up with that; instead, their fist hits his jaw. hard. He tumbles to the side and they clamber on top of him, panting, and something has broken loose in them, grabbing fistfuls of his robes and slamming him against the floor until he sees stars.

"I -- do not answer to you," Auren hisses, pale and sick and radiant, their hair sticking to their face. They punctuate it by grabbing him by the neck and slamming him into the floor again, muscles rippling. "And _you_ \-- will take this ship off the fucking planet, and you will leave me the fuck alone, do you understand me?"

Atton lays there, dazed. They're a force of nature. Beautiful, the light catching their bruises and the scant softness of their breasts, they've opened a few scabs in the scuffle and they drip blood down their sickly skin. They're scared, and they're hurt, and now more than ever. Atton's empathy is open to their pain. Panicked and projecting fury, yet no less real for the acting.  Atton has never been so in love with Auren Keane as he is now, with the pieces of them.

He tangles a hand in their hair and drags them down for a kiss. Atton slides his consciousness over the ragged edges of Auren's and he wants to make them numb, to suppress what they'd just been through, but what he does is dig his fingernails into the wounds, spiritual and physical, and worm his way inside. Some would say the Force is not meant for this, to be slipped into a hurting mind and twisted like a knife, but Atton knows the Force is too ancient to have a purpose; only uses. Auren gives him a full body shudder, their tongue forcing into his mouth the same way he's forcing into their head, and he moans and draws them in like their fractured mind opens for him.

And then they slap him. 

"I told you, don't," Auren pants, rearing back up to their knees above him, some facsimile of control settling back into place on their wrecked features. They swing a muscular thigh over him and let him get up, breathing hard. "Not until we're in orbit. Not until we're out of this place. I'll  _ kill _ you."

"I know," Atton breathes, dazed, and coming back to himself, lips chapped and bitten red. He doesn't know what part he's responding to. He stumbles back to his feet, fixing his own robes as Auren turns to find something else to wear. His hands are shaking. It's clear Auren is done with him, at least for now, so Atton leaves the dormitory, stomach churning, hand pressed tight over his mouth like he's going to be sick.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to pilot too hard to see straight. He's practically a pro.


End file.
